A gentle breeze swept across the lush, rolling Velvet Hills, fluttering the black-and-red three-headed dragon banner.
Some time had passed since the battle, and construction on Viserys Fort, atop the hill on the right bank of the Upper Rhoyne, was accelerating.
The hill itself had a new name: Viserys Hill.
"Still short on money," Viserys muttered, looking at the busy construction site.
Construction required money, and feeding the newly submitted people and soldiers required money too.
It seemed that beyond the loans from Braavos, Viserys needed a new source of income.
Currently, the inner walls of Viserys Fort were being built layer by layer with grey-brown stone mixed with mud and gravel, then heightened. The inner wall featured guard towers, arrow slits, and murder holes.
As for the outer wall, the foundation was just being laid around the perimeter of the inner wall.
Viserys had also considered the megalithic circle in the Velvet Hills—a ring of standing stones. In the future, when he had enough manpower, he could dismantle it to build his walls.
And that remaining Valyrian steel colossus... if the Dothraki could take it, so could he.
The double-wall concept was inspired by Winterfell. Viserys Fort lacked the natural advantages of Casterly Rock, so hilltop fortifications required more artificial obstacles to create a multi-layered defense network.
Beyond the inner and outer walls, a wooden palisade of sharpened logs served as the outermost defense.
Besides the walls and palisade, a stone staircase was being built up the hill.
"Good work, lads," Syrio said to the workers by the wooden palisade.
Syrio was leading by example, carrying a log on his shoulder.
Stone wasn't rare for a Braavosi, but seeing vast green fields and forests evoked a different feeling.
Meanwhile, on the temporary drill ground outside the walls, Viserys Targaryen and Ser Roland Lake were conducting sword-and-shield training, watched by many new recruits.
Wearing grey leather armor, Viserys wielded a blunted sword, the heavy steel emitting a cold, dull gleam.
Viserys slashed and thrust, while Ser Roland used an oak shield to block.
After a few rounds of probing, Viserys's movements became increasingly rapid. His feints and quick transitions left Ser Roland struggling to keep up.
Crack! Crack! Viserys increased his attack speed, and the oak shield began to splinter.
Blunted swords crashed together with a whistling sound. Ser Roland hurriedly discarded the remnants of his shield.
He tried to defend with his blunted sword but was glued down by Viserys's offensive, unable to disengage.
Viserys's strikes grew more powerful, resembling the stacking waves of the sea—a sword style he had pondered while on the ocean.
Finally, Ser Roland was backed into a corner. With a loud clack, his sword was knocked from his hand.
There hadn't been much suspense in the duel; the key was how much time and effort Viserys needed to win.
"I yield. I yield," Ser Roland waved his hand, grimacing. His muscles ached all over; trading blows with Viserys was no simple task.
"Viserys the Warrior!"
"Viserys the Warrior!" The spectating soldiers, both Westerosi and Andal, cheered enthusiastically.
"You must intensify your training as well, if you hope to become true knights," Roland said to the cheering soldiers as he sat on a bench.
Viserys, still standing, sheathed his blunted sword, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. "Your turn. Sword and shield sparring is basic training for a warrior."
"Begin," Viserys ordered. The soldiers who had been watching lined up to take their turns in sparring—sword and shield, spear, or mounted lance combat were the most common drills.
In addition, there was weightlifting, long jumping, javelin throwing, longbow training, and sprinting.
Viserys emphasized these basic training categories. The soldiers needed to maintain a certain training volume and execute tactical maneuvers ordered by their commander.
Loyalty and combat capability—achieving both was not easy.
Viserys had considered hiring mercenaries, but apart from the Unsullied and the Golden Company, most mercenaries could only serve as auxiliaries.
Mercenaries weren't regular soldiers; they loved gold and never fought a losing battle.
"I've re-tallied the numbers. After the battle, of the 470 Andal soldiers who besieged us, aside from the half we killed, the wounded and maimed have been set to work as craftsmen. The remaining 180 combat-capable soldiers have been organized into two centuries," Ser Roland Lake reported to Viserys.
The "century" was the basic unit Viserys established. Besides the century formed by the soldiers he brought from Braavos, he now had two Andal centuries post-battle.
So Viserys now possessed a fort—Viserys Fort—and three centuries of soldiers, though the quality of the troops varied.
"A beautiful victory, though dozens of my men died, and twenty or so were wounded," Viserys said with emotion. "Some of them used to joke with me, and now they are ghosts in a foreign land."
"That is the fate of a warrior, Your Grace," Ser Roland consoled him.
Viserys nodded. "True, but victory is the best protection for soldiers."
Viserys wasn't a tyrant who disregarded casualties to achieve objectives.
On the contrary, he believed that only a mix of leniency and strictness could transform these soldiers into his workhorses.
War inevitably involved loss. The temporary summer of this era would surely be replaced by winter and slaughter.
Today's brutal training was for tomorrow's even more brutal wars.
To develop in the Velvet Hills, the first century was just the foundation; he would need more.
"What do you think of the quality of the Andal soldiers, Ser Roland?" Viserys asked.
"Their basic condition is acceptable; they are tall and strong. But they are no longer the knightly army that swept through Westeros. There are few knights, their iron armor is old, plate armor is almost non-existent, and their combat discipline is low," Ser Roland whispered, looking at the Andals, who were mostly infantry.
Viserys watched the Andals going through their tactical drills. They could complete basic movements, but that was all.
More advanced formations and knightly charges were beyond them. They looked nothing like the Andals who had once conquered Westeros.
After the mass exodus of their population, civilization here had declined rapidly. If the Andals were like this, the Rhoynar likely weren't much better.
Viserys looked at the Andal soldiers—some half-grown boys, some older men. Though clumsy, they were training hard.
"The start is bitter, but persistence wins," Viserys watched the soldiers. "Besides, the Andals still worship the Seven. We just need to reignite their passion and reintroduce them to higher civilization."
"You are right, Your Grace. A well-trained standing army brings victory," Roland nodded. "Even the armies of the Seven Kingdoms are just a core of knights plus some levied troops."
Roland didn't fully grasp the depth of the word "civilization," but it felt appropriate. His Grace Viserys was a learned man.
"In the name of the Warrior."
"In the name of the Warrior."
"Glory to the Andals."
The soldiers shouted their battle cries, barely managing to muster some spirited momentum.
"Still not enough, but at least it's a start."
In ancient times, the Andals first swept through the Vale with fire and sword, beginning their conquest of Westeros.
Their iron weapons and armor completely outclassed the bronze used by the First Men, sending many to their graves.
But now, after the Andals had effectively taken over Westeros, the local civilization left behind by their poorer brethren continued to decline.
The Andals of the Velvet Hills had no towns, no castles. Apart from their faith in the Seven, they seemed destitute.
Even the iron forging and knightly training that the Andals were most proud of had been largely forgotten.
Knightly training required vast sums of money, and the scattered Andal villages of today lacked the material conditions for it.
"This is a brand new army. They are boys, exiles, the downtrodden... but they are also my hope," Viserys thought.